It’s been a few months since I decided to stop disciplining my kids and while it hasn’t been a complete transformation (yet), my goal is progress, not perfection. I do sometimes yell. I sometimes lose my temper and punish my strong willed little boy, but I have learned to forgive myself and I make an effort to admit when I’ve made a mistake and done something I shouldn’t have. My son will say “Mommy, you yelled at me. It hurt my ears.” And rather than say “well, if you hadn’t done x I wouldn’t yell!” I say “I know. I am sorry I hurt your ears. I don’t like yelling and I don’t want to do it. I am trying hard NOT to yell but I am only human and sometimes when I get overwhelmed by big feelings I forget and yell. Does that happen to you sometimes?” He will then tell me that yes, he doesn’t always want to hit or scream or throw his toys, but his body takes over and he can’t stop. I tell him that I will help him try to stop, and then we discuss how we can solve the problem in the future. Sometimes it works, sometimes he’s overtired or hungry or overwhelmed and hits anyway, but I have seen him in the moments when his sister is in his space and he DOES try to make an effort to solve the problem before he hits her. Unfortunately she’s 2 and doesn’t always get the message he’s trying to tell her, so we still have some work to do. BUT it’s progress! That’s the goal, right?

The managing of emotions is still in the works and my little boy doesn’t always feel like talking about how he’s feeling right away. Usually he has to have the tantrum first or be distracted temporarily before I can address those feelings, and that’s something I have a lot of trouble doing because I prefer to address the issue NOW! Believe me, it’s a source of contention with my husband too, who also likes to process his feelings on his own first before he is ready to address them. If I’m honest with myself I would say that I’m just really uncomfortable with leaving those feelings “unresolved”. I get anxious and can’t handle feeling anxious; I want THEIR feelings that are affecting me to “go away” and be “fixed” so that I don’t feel that energy anymore. So having a son who is very much like his dad in that he might not tell me how he feels for several hours is really difficult sometimes. Especially when I KNOW which emotions are underneath their anger and it’s so obvious they should just figure it out already and move on!

The Things I Haven’t Mastered Yet

Emotional regulation isn’t easy when one is trying to learn how to manage oneself AND happens to be a freaking empath who feels other people’s emotions even when they act “fine”.

I can deal with the constant addressing of feelings about 60% of the time without issue, but I still have a lot of work to do and it’s probably going to be something I’ll always have to remind myself to do. I notice it a lot when I talk to people; I’ll address their problem first, then I will stop myself and think “wait, they need their emotional needs met first” and backtrack. It still feels awkward to address the feelings in a genuine way. I used to say “it’s okay” or ” look on the bright side” or try to “fix” the feeling to make it better and move on. It is still uncomfortable for me to dwell on certain feelings when I believe that I’ve already addressed the issue. I mean seriously, I get that you’re disappointed that we can’t go to the park today because of the rain. It really sucks. You were looking forward to it, yes, I know. We can go another day. Here’s an activity we CAN do. Yes, I heard you the first 56,000 times you said it. You want to go to the park even though it’s raining. Yes, I can see how sad you are…(GET OVER IT ALREADY! OH MY GOD JUST STOP!!! SERIOUSLY THERE ARE A BILLION OTHER THINGS YOU CAN DO BESIDES GO TO THE FUCKING PARK!!!)

Obviously that last part is in my head, but I’m pretty sure the empathic responses I give my 4.5 year old start to lose their empathy and start to sound robotic and annoyed after a while. So the whole emotions being rehashed over and over…really not my strong point.

Why I REALLY “Have To” Use My New Tricks

What IS my strong point? Playful Parenting. I’ve become the master of that, as long as I’m not too drained (too much empathy can drain me because I’m an introvert and people’s emotions are siphoning of my energy) and as long as my kid is in a good mood. If he’s overtired, hungry, overwhelmed, or overly emotional then the tricks don’t work the way I like them to, but 90% of the time I get a much better level of cooperation out of him than the other ways.

Here’s what happens when I try to do the “other” things, as an example of just how strong-willed my little boy is:

Commanding

Me: It’s time for bed. Go brush your teeth, go pee, put on your pull-up, get into your pjs, and climb into bed.

Him: NO!

Bribing

Me: We have time for two stories tonight if you go brush your teeth and start getting ready for bed right now…

Him: NO! I don’t WANT to go to bed! I don’t WANT two stories!

Me: Okay then *shrugging*

Him: NO!!!! I WANT two stories!

Me: Then go do what I asked.

Him: NO! Little (insert insult of the month here)!

Threatening

Me: If you don’t get ready for bed right now you won’t get a story.

Him: Fine, I don’t WANT a story! I’M NOT TIRED!!!!

Me: GO. TO. BED!!!

Him: NOOOOOO!!!

Giving Choices

Me: Do you want me to brush your teeth or do you want to do it?

Him: Me!

Me: Okay *hands him toothbrush*

Him: NO! YOU do it!

Me: Okay *tries to take toothbrush back*

Him: NO! I want to do it!

Me: Okay, then do it.

*little brat just stands there with his toothbrush in his hands, refusing to do anything until I find myself locked in a power struggle*

Asking Nicely

Me: Can you go get ready for bed now?

Him: Mmmm, NAH!

So yeah, this kid took every single trick from the conventional parenting methods and showed me just how futile they were with him. I HAD TO get creative. When I found How to Talk so Little Kids Will Listen, I finally found something that would work. I created the EVIL Mr. Plaque Man!

Playful Parenting for the Win!

Who is this nefarious being? Well, he comes out at night after dinner has ended and bedtime routines must begin. You know he’s coming by his evil, maniacal, deep laugh.

MWAHAHAH!

My son will pause in whatever he’s doing. He’ll say “no, not yet!” then run to the bathroom. Then he will say “go, Mommy! Make him talk.”

And so I say in my supervillain voice: “I am the EVIL Mr. Plaque Man! I have come to drill holes in Hunter’s teeth!”

And he will say “Oh no you don’t, Mr. Plaque Man! I’m gonna get you!”

He teams up with Super Toothbrush and Mighty Toothpaste. Sometimes I mess up on their names and my son will correct me “NO, Mommy, it’s Super TOOTHBRUSH!” Clearly he’s paying attention, so that’s a win for me. He asks me to do the teeth next, so I’ll use my high pitched squeaky voice “oh no! Save us, Hunter!” and he’ll brush and giggle and I’ll say things like “MWAHAHA! I’M SENDING MY PLAQUE MONSTERS TO THE BACK WHERE HUNTER WILL NOT REACH!” And my son will remember to brush those back teeth super well because he won’t let his arch nemesis win this round!

At the end I will say “ARGH! YOU BEAT ME AGAIN, HUNTER! BUT I’LL BE BACK TOMORROW!”

And that’s how I get him to brush his teeth.

Then I change focus. He was slow at putting on his pjs and used to insist that I dress him. I would attempt to fulfill his request and get kicked for my trouble. It was frustrating for me and would end in his tears as I walked out of his room and told him “no story tonight” even though that was really punishing both of us. My son is super active during the day. I can ONLY get him to cuddle and sit for a story at bedtime. It’s our special time. So “no story” really sucks. I hate “no story” nights.

So now I created The Resistant Clothing. I do the voices of his pull-up and his pjs. They don’t want to go onto my son. They say they want to be free. I say “now pjs, it’s your job to be on Hunter. You have to keep him warm.” and they will say “NNOOOO I don’t want to.” and I will argue with them as I make the bed or tidy up the room as my son giggles and puts his pjs on. I do the same thing for getting him dressed to go out as well. And if I just say “go get dressed” my son will sometimes comply but other times he will say “make them talk, Mommy”.

I’ve done this for food, too. My almost-5 year old delights in biting off the many heads of his sentient chicken nuggets, fries, vegetables etc. He’s kind of sadistic about it, but I won’t worry too much about that since I also have a messed up sense of humor and yet haven’t murdered anyone and stuffed them in a wall or anything.

When Dad Doesn’t Use the Tricks

When I don’t use the tricks, the kid will dig in his heels. I see it all the time with my husband (who once could get him to do anything, but now is suffering the same frustration I have been since he was 15 months old). Barbara Coloroso calls it the second “Age of Rebellion”. 2 year olds rebel against mom, 5 year olds against mom AND dad. Teenagers rebel against the entire older generation. So having already gone through the first stage, I’m kind of enjoying that my husband is now experiencing that frustration too, but also I feel bad because he’s not working with the same tools I am. He tries, but these things take practice and you have to know when to use them and use them correctly. My husband works 90+ hours every 2 weeks; he isn’t around enough to catch on as quickly and it takes much longer for him to learn the tools by watching me in my more triumphant moments and trying them out for himself. It’s not to say he hasn’t picked up on it though. He’s slowly learning and when I catch him using one of my tricks I feel pride that he was paying attention and felt it was worth trying.

Other times I know he’s overtired and short on patience and he’ll command our son to do something and get resistance, and I’m thinking to myself “that’s not going to work”. And of course it doesn’t work because they are both strong willed and resist being controlled. If I’m in a good mood, I’ll step in to help. If I’m drained, then it’s a bad day or at least a bad few hours before I can recharge.

That’s the other thing to keep in mind, btw. THESE TOOLS WILL NOT WORK IF YOU DON’T RECHARGE YOURSELF.

Why I NEED a Break (and demand one)

I know that a lot of articles stress “self care” and that there’s also this attitude that parents don’t GET a break. You are expected to just suck it up and deal with the issue. Well, I say that’s bullshit! Of COURSE I deserve a break, and damn it, I am going to DEMAND one. I don’t care what the oldschool attitudes are! I am not JUST a mother; I am a person with needs. I took care of those needs before kids and I am still going to take care of them now. What I NEED is to have some time to myself at least every few days, if not every day. I NEED that time to myself because I am an introvert and being around people is draining. I NEED to recharge so that when the kids come to me with their feelings, I can address those feelings and mirror them. I have found that I have a limit to how long I can function without a break from people. I get little warnings that come up.

Level 1 is when I get so tired and drained that I just want to sleep. I don’t want to do anything and can’t focus on anything.

Level 2 is when I run out of patience. I start getting snappish, I have less tolerance for whining, and I start to run out of empathy. I’m functioning on autopilot and might “stress clean” and get frustrated when I can’t get things done.

Level 3 is the danger zone. I HATE Level 3. I don’t want to BE in Level 3. Level 3 is when all my empathy is gone! I start to yell and punish again. I stop being the fun, playful mommy and start acting like a drill sergeant. This tells me that I need a break within the next day or things will get much worse. I have trained myself to start demanding a break at this point and I get very anxious if that’s not possible.

Level 4 is when I know I have to get a break NOW! It is the worst level and one I very much wish to avoid because THIS is when the spanking mother I never wanted to be comes out and I become the worst version of myself. I DESPISE this person I become; she is an evil demon. She rages and scares her kids. She gets out of control and I have a very difficult time reigning her in. I see her less and less since I started demanding more help from other people. Even the members of my family who don’t believe I really NEED the help will get called on, and I have just started ignoring their opinions on what I “REALLY need to do” (which is often change my parenting style back to the “old ways” that worked for THEM, and doesn’t address that I actually WANT to parent differently). If I know my husband is going to be working a lot more and that I may not be able to get a break in the usual way (having him take the kids for the day) then I will call on my backups. And if I have to break down and cry and tell them that I’m at my breaking point, then I will do that because if I’m at Level 3 already then a simple change of scenery or taking the kids to the park is NOT going to cut it. Taking the kids ANYWHERE is just going to add to my level of frustration because at Level 3 I am in no condition to be around ANYONE. If the kids act up at the park I will lose it. I just know that about myself.

It’s important to know ones limits

I have been working very hard at looking at myself and just where those limits are in my efforts to do better than what I was taught. I WANT to do better because those tactics that come out in Level 3 and 4 are exactly the things I remember vowing I would NEVER do to my own kids because of how awful they made me feel growing up.

I remember just wanting to be heard, and so now I work at hearing my son when he’s upset. I try to look past the action (throwing his toys or hitting/screaming etc) and dig down to the feeling behind it. I address that feeling and I tell him that I sometimes feel like that too, so that he knows it’s okay to have those feelings and that he’s not bad, he’s just a little boy who got overwhelmed by his big emotions. I want him to have a healthy relationship with his emotions. I don’t want him to feel like he needs to push them away and I don’t want him to feel like he “can’t deal” when other people express their own feelings. It’s not any way to live life! It SUCKS! I don’t like that when my husband is upset and just needs someone (me) to vent to, my first instinct is to point out how he’s thinking about it all wrong or what he needs to do to fix it, or just giving the wrong tone with my empathy so that the words sound hollow. I don’t like that instead of addressing feelings when things get heated, my first instinct is to just hide in the bedroom all night until it all “blows over”. I know from my reading that this isn’t a healthy response to other people’s emotions and that if I’m to do what I need to do for my kids, I have to change this first reaction.

A BIG reason to change

So that’s my update on my Peaceful Parenting journey! I started this back in January (though technically I was reading the books in December) and now it’s April. I’ve cut WAAAAY back on sending my son to his room so that it only ever happens when I’m out of ideas and out of patience. I stopped sending him to the corner, stopped taking away his toys as a punishment for not cleaning them up (they only get taken if he’s throwing them, and only the toys that can hurt or break something or someone), and I try to use playful parenting tactics rather than command him to do something.

It doesn’t always work and I still have a long way to go, but the more I keep at it the less I yell.

As an added thought for this month, my son was playing with his sister in the tub earlier this week and accidentally broke something that REALLY wasn’t good. When I came in there I saw the toy in his hands and he looked at me in fear. He started to cry. He said “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry!” I didn’t immediately see what he had done (I had been finishing up the dishes while listening intently to the giggles of the kids and had only heard a splash, a crash, and an “oh no!” from my son. I should add that I was calm that day. I had managed to get some rest the night before and though my husband was at a friend’s place helping him with his truck that night, I was only at Level 1. I had only yelled once that day and I had caught myself. So the look of terror in my son’s eyes was heartbreaking to see. This poor little soul was sobbing. He was so scared that he had done something SO bad that he would surely be punished.

It was pretty bad. Repairs would have to be done and my husband wouldn’t like it, but it WAS an accident. I knew that he hadn’t meant to do it. He had been playing and trying to make his sister laugh. He’d gotten too excited, he lost control of where his toy landed. Accidents happen. Had I been right there, I probably couldn’t have stopped it from happening and couldn’t have predicted it.

What shocked me was that he had already tried to “fix” it. He had cleaned up the broken pieces and put them in the garbage and done so rather quickly considering that I had rushed in there to see what had happened. And still, he was crying. He was inconsolable.

“Don’t yell at me.” he cried. “Don’t hurt me.”

He has been spanked before. I am not proud of it. It’s a source of deep regret and shame, as well as self-loathing that I have raised my hand to my child, but it’s a reality. And that reality is what caused that fear in his eyes. And I hated myself for it. I hated myself SO much that in this moment when he accidentally broke something, his first instinct was to beg me not to hurt him.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I said as calmly as I could. I told myself in my head “this is not an emergency. Your child needs comforting.” And I told him to get out of the tub.

He cried harder. He begged me not to hurt him. I calmly said “I’m not mad, sweetheart. It was an accident. You need to get out and so does your sister. There might be broken bits you can’t see”

He kept crying. His sister whimpered, not sure what to do. Mommy wasn’t upset, but Brother was and it was confusing. I took her out of the tub first, looked her over, and determined that she was okay. No cuts. I toweled her off and got his towel and wrapped him in it and hugged him. I told him that he seemed so scared and I was sorry and that it was okay and that I wasn’t mad at him. I told him I was just happy he wasn’t hurt because he could have been cut (he did have a small cut on his toe upon further inspection, but we covered that with a band-aid and he didn’t even make a fuss until I pointed it out). I told him we needed to tell Daddy.

Fear returned, and I hated THAT too. This is what punishment does to kids. It makes them fear, even when they don’t need to. It makes ME feel such shame and guilt that WE were the cause of that fear. So I held him, rocked him, reassured him. And still this little boy was unsure of me. “You’re not going to yell?” he kept asking. He really didn’t believe that I wasn’t upset. I told him “well I don’t like what happened, but it was an accident and can be fixed. I know you didn’t want to break it. You wanted to make your sister laugh. And when the toy hit that thing and broke it, that scared you because you knew it was not a good thing to do. But you tried to clean up the mess, and that was good that you wanted to keep your sister from being cut, but YOU could have been hurt too. I’m glad nobody got hurt. That could have been very dangerous.”

I called my husband and told him calmly what happened and how upset our boy was. I was relieved that he got my message in my tone that he needed to be very careful how he addressed this. He was calm and echoed what I had already said; this was an accident, it’s okay, and that we would fix it.

My boy went to sleep that night knowing he was truly special and loved, and that he would not be punished for his accident, no matter how bad it was. But I lay awake much longer and I thought about his little face full of tears and it broke my heart. It made me resolve to keep at this new way of parenting and to keep rejecting the old ways until that awful, scary, angry mother becomes nothing more than a distant memory of the time when Mommy didn’t know any better. I want him to KNOW that I recognize how much that scared and hurt him, and how sorry I am. I don’t want him ever thinking that spanking and punishment was justified. I don’t want him thinking he’s “bad”. I want to give him everything I didn’t know I had needed as a child; all the love and understanding that my parents hadn’t known to give even in my worst moments. It’s easy to be that kind parent when the kids are “good”, but when they test your limits that’s when you really have to work at it. And it’s moments like what I experienced this week that show you how your kids actually see you when you’re at your worst, and how often you’re at your worst.

The Legacy I Want to Leave Behind

This week was an eye-opener. It really pushed me to do more to be better for him. So I will continue to work on my demons. I will continue to figure out just where my limits are and find ways to fulfill my needs so that I reach the worst levels only a small fraction of the time, if at all. And I will continue to show my poor little boy that Mommy really ISN’T going to yell at him and that she certainly doesn’t want to hurt him no matter what he does, because those things are not okay to do to the people we love.

And hopefully those messages will stick with both of my children and my future grandchildren won’t ever know that fear that I saw in my son’s eyes. Because at the end of my life, when my children are grown and look back on their childhood and share memories of me, I want them to remember the funny voices and the characters we made up together. I want them to recall fondly my stories of Evil Mr. Plaque Man and the Resistant Clothing. I want them to remember Mommy Panther who catches her little baby panthers and Mommy Kitty who snuggled in her son’s lap. I want them to remember Kid Mommy who reversed roles and pretended to be scared to sleep alone; who made her children giggle uncontrollably. I want them to remember the crafts, the movie nights, the baking, the story time, the bedtime snuggles, the made-up songs with their names and the sing-alongs to Disney show tunes. I want them to have so many favorite moments with me that they can’t pick only a few, and I want them to know without any doubt that I loved them. In the end of my life, I want to know that I was the best mother I could be for my kids with the knowledge I had at the time, and that I never stopped trying to be better for them.

People can roll their eyes at my parenting all they want. I don’t believe kids need to “obey”; that’s not the most important thing. Obedience doesn’t get you very far as an adult and can actually work against you. So I’m not choosing obedience anymore; instead, I’m choosing love. And if LOVE is going to get me kicked out of the “good parent” club, then so be it. I wasn’t much for following others anyway.

Years ago, my father gave me the most important piece of future parenting advice I ever needed to hear: “Be at least one step better than I was. Do better.”

I took that advice to heart. I questioned what I was taught. I questioned my upbringing as I learned new information that contradicted what I had been told. And I DID BETTER.

What my father didn’t tell me though was how in the process of learning to do better, I would come to a lot of shocking and often painful realizations about myself. There would be things that I would learn that I wouldn’t want to face because they would confirm what I had lost or never had.

When I learned about attachment theory, I felt that pain so strongly. I realized that most of my problems stemmed from my lack of emotional regulation; mainly, my difficulty relating to others, dealing with other people’s emotions when they get intense, and how I feel both insecure and suffocated in relationships. I realized that my constant fear of being alone was a result of my insecure attachment. I learned that punishment was a big factor in how I ended up seeing myself. I have struggled most of my adult life trying to re-learn the things I should have learned in childhood.

I don’t blame my parents for not knowing what they didn’t know at the time, but I also can’t ignore the pain that it causes me. The grief I felt as I realized that the way I was parented in early childhood was truly painful and that regardless of how I had acted out to “deserve” that punishment, my childhood self had only been seeking love and acceptance. When she didn’t get that love and acceptance, she got scared. She acted out because she was angry, and instead of her parents recognizing that anger she was punished for “having an attitude”. It’s no wonder that I still don’t know how to handle my emotions well. I stifle my feelings until they finally get to be too much, and then I lash out at people. I throw an adult temper tantrum.

The more I read about emotional regulation, the more the lights turn on in my subconscious and I start to see the scars of my childhood clearer than ever.

I see that lonely, scared, anxious little girl who cried in her bed at night but nobody ever knew; or if they did, they never came to hold her and rock her (I should know; I cried often back then).

It made me weep and rant and scream and rage at the injustice of it all! I felt betrayed. As a mother myself those feelings were magnified further because I understood what the books meant about parental instincts. How often did I feel that visceral pull to my children when they were in distress? How often did I want to just wrap my arms around them and take that pain away?

Knowing how powerful that feeling was, it is difficult to accept that when I was that small child in distress, the caregivers I was dependent on stood by and let me cry. They didn’t help me work through my feelings. They punished me for screaming, for “carrying on”. They told me to “grow up”, “suck it up”. “Life’s not fair!” they said.

The phrases that my books suggest I use with my kids were things I never heard as a child, and THAT hurts. How much nicer would it have been for someone to acknowledge that I was afraid or sad or angry, but that they would help me through it? Instead of “That’s enough!”

“Go to your room, young lady!”

“Watch your mouth!”

“Don’t you dare talk back to me!”

“Because I said so!”

“It’s just a ___! You’re making a big deal over nothing”

“You’re too old to be freaking out over this!”

“Suck it up!”

“Grow up!”

“Some kids have it so much worse than you! Be thankful!”

“Stop whining about things that aren’t important”

“You’re being ridiculous”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I wrote out a letter that I will never publish and never send, but even as I wrote it, I cried. I felt the pain of being that little girl all over again with every word, even as I worked to forgive the person who had caused that pain. It was hard; it was like opening up an old wound that I’d long since tried to bury under a million bandages and anesthetize with a dozen painkillers until I could pretend it wasn’t there at all.

But I had to do it for my children. In reading those books on emotional regulation, I realized that I will never be able to accomplish what I’m determined to do for my children until I heal myself. I have to examine all the ways in which I was taught the wrong ways of handling my emotions and all the ways in which I wasn’t given what I had truly needed. It’s the ONLY way I will be able to help my own children work through the same feelings that I had as a child, so that instead of teaching THEM to shut down those emotions, I show them that ALL their feelings are okay.

Because when you know better, you do better. And while I know that I am only working with the current information that is available to me NOW, my willingness to change and evolve will become the most important lesson my children will ever need to know in order to do better than I did.

About a month ago I made a bold decision that surprisingly no one challenged me on. I don’t know if it’s because they didn’t see the post, didn’t read it, didn’t care, or if they were just so shocked by what I said that they couldn’t think of a response that would be diplomatic enough to express their disappointment with me.

Whatever the reason, NOBODY has commented on that post and I haven’t heard a word about my new approach to discipline–or more accurately, the complete absence of it.

I will admit right now that I haven’t had a perfect transformation (yet). I still yell sometimes and there are still those moments when I want to just give up and MAKE my son behave. But I haven’t given into that strong urge that stems from my own lack of emotional regulation and for that I’m freaking proud of myself!

It’s been a rather interesting several weeks using this new model of parenting and it helps that I’ve been reading Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids every night and using the new tools that I’ve found in the chapters as well as in “The Whole Brain Child“, the latter of which I photocopied and taped to the cupboard doors in my kitchen. My son isn’t magically transformed into an obedient child, but things are definitely easier than they used to be. To put it simply, when I got rid of punishment I got results a LOT faster and with far less drama!

Power Struggles are Disappearing

It wasn’t always enough to just offer him the choices or calmly tell him what he needed to do. At certain times of the day (the morning, before mealtimes and a few hours before bedtime) it didn’t matter how nicely we asked him to do something (even something that he would probably want to do, like turn off the TV to get dressed and go out with Dad), he would put up a fight. He would scream “NO, Little Shithead!” He would throw things if we stepped in and just turned off the TV on him. He would turn a simple request into a huge power struggle and our default solution was always to tell him that if he didn’t stop right now he would lose his privilege we were offering him (“that’s it! NO park/bedtime story/treat at the grocery store/going out with Daddy later”).

I always hated that ultimatum because it was as much a punishment for ME as it was for our kid. If he lost special Daddy Day then I lost Special Mommy By Herself For a Few Hours Day. Lose the bedtime story and I lose that special time where it’s just me and my son settling down to read. No treat? Great! Now we’re dealing with a hungry AND angry kid in the grocery store who keeps whining for a treat anyway.

Doesn’t want to pick up his toys with me? “How fast can you pick these up? I bet I can beat you to it! Oh no, you’re so much faster than me! Oh no, you’re going to win! Uh oh, I’m almost done…oh no! You beat me because now your sister is helping you! Yay! We’re done! Now we can go and play your game! Good job!”

Doesn’t want to brush his teeth? “Race you!”

Doesn’t want to put something in his room? “Can you do it before I get to 30 counting? Oh wow! You got it done in 24 seconds!”

Fight anger with more play time!

Sometimes the suggestion of a game wasn’t enough. Sometimes he was just so crabby and he would hit me. In the past I would immediately send him to time out in his room. He would scream and throw things and hit even more. I would spend an entire afternoon fighting with that child to stay in his room and stop acting out. I would take every single toy he owned and put it in my room and tell him he could have them back when he stopped hitting or throwing things. He would just get angrier. He would hurt his sister, he would hurt the cats, and he would hurt me.

I don’t punish him or even react to him hitting me anymore. I stop, I take a deep breath, and then I attack him…playfully!

I channel all that frustration with him and transform it. I say “THAT’S IT! I HAVE HAD IT! YOU’RE GONNA GET IT NOW!” I say it in my “fake mad voice” and then I grab him, thrown him to the foam mat that I lay down in the living room and I tickle him until all his hits and kicks and “mad” is out of his system.

It releases his frustration, he stops hitting, and then afterward he’s more willing to play my clean up game.

When he can’t calm down I change his focus

We have a big tree in our yard and squirrels live in it. When my son is bouncing on the couch and I need him to stop but he’s too wound up I no longer MAKE HIM sit. I don’t threaten, I don’t even yell. Yelling never worked and would lead to violent outbursts in the past. Obviously trying to calm him down would mean that the last two tactics I use (game playing and wrestling him into “submission”) would rile him up more. So I pretend there’s something outside the window.

“Shh!” I say. “Listen! Quiet! Watch!” I point out the window at the tree. “Did you see him?”

My son will stop and look out the window (there’s nothing actually there, but he thinks there is) and I keep watching. I tell him in a whisper that he has to watch and be quiet.

Sometimes he’ll spot a bird or a cat I didn’t see, other times he’ll say “he went home” and either way he has stopped jumping on the couch. He’s calm and I can then tell him “hey, would you like to do a craft/color/work on your letters with me?” And he will settle down to work on something quiet.

These are just some of the things I’ve started doing with my son instead of punishing him (his sister is only 22 months old and so wouldn’t be punished for anything right now anyway) and I am amazed at how much better the days are going.

Sure, he’s still got an explosive temper and he doesn’t always want to do what I ask him to, but he’s also ONLY 4 YEARS OLD! And he’s doing much better than a lot of kids his age; the final visit with the child development specialist confirmed that last week. She actually said “I’m not needed here; you’ve got this!”

As for whether or not my son is actually learning to control himself, well he was playing with his sister and she destroyed his block tower. He said “Mommy, she broke my tower but I didn’t hit her, no.” And when he has accidentally hurt me or even hit me out of anger HE is the one apologizing and it’s without me having to say anything to him. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Mommy” he’ll say. “I didn’t want to but my body was controlling me”. He gets it. He is working on his impulse control and the older he gets the easier it will get.

What about the baby?

His sister is probably going to be my biggest “experiment” but I don’t know if it would be an accurate comparison because she’s more laid back than her big brother was at her age. Their personalities are like day and night, despite being raised nearly the same way.

I do know that it is easier to calm her down when I acknowledge her feelings and just give her a hug.

“I know, that scared you”

“Yeah”

“You want to go play now?”

“Yeah”

“Okay, go play”

Progress, Not Perfection

I will say this now: I am NOT a Perfect Parent. I don’t aspire to be one either. I am still learning and I don’t plan to ever stop learning. But one thing that this new approach has shown me is that I am finally making progress after years of not knowing how to handle my spirited child(ren) in their most difficult moments. More importantly, I am no longer as frustrated as I used to be. I don’t yell as often as I did. I am actually succeeding in my goal not to spank.

Today my child tested my patience. EVERYTHING was a battle. It didn’t matter how many times I tried to redirect him, wrestle and tickle him, or cuddle him. He was just in one of those moods where NOTHING works.

But even when I was about to lose it on him, I was able to stop. I got SO close to that breaking point when I would normally storm off and lock him out of my bedroom or worse, spank him, and I DIDN’T DO IT.

I grabbed him, I dragged him into his room, I threw him onto the bed. I was SO angry with him because he would not stop hitting me or his sister and he BIT her. He had called me a “Shithead Mommy” and I was DONE!

But I stopped. After I threw him on the bed I stopped. I laid down on the bed with him and I just held him. He was crying and saying how sorry he was and begging me not to hurt him because he knew that he had pushed me to my limit, and instead of telling him he was to stay in his room until he was ready to calm down, I just lay there. I held him. He started to cry and I picked him up, no longer feeling that rush of adrenaline, and I rocked him.

And after he was finished crying he wanted to watch a movie in his room so I put on Fern Gully.

Did he act up again after that? Well, yes he did. He’s 4 and he’s dealing with some really big emotions. He needs to feel safe again after all that punishment he’s faced in the past. All those times when I would send him to his room and yell and take his toys hardened his heart. He was scared to cry so he acted out with anger instead. But he is acting out LESS than he used to; that’s the difference. He’s calming down faster than he did a month ago.

A few hours later I told him that hitting isn’t okay. I said “I’m learning to control my body and you need to learn to control yours. What can you do instead of hitting?” And then we came up with some ideas on what we can do.

It’s WORTH The Effort!

It’s going to take time, a lot more effort, and a lot more patience. But I’m confident that I will be able to get him to a point where he won’t need to repress his emotions and he won’t need to hit to release any frustration. Considering that emotional regulation is what’s severely lacking for many males in our society, this is HUGE! If I can raise my son to know how to control his anger AND deal with his feelings, then I will be doing every woman he ever dates a huge favor. I will have succeeded in raising a man who will not EVER hit a woman OR use his size to intimidate or control her. I will have raised a man who also won’t hit or bully others to get what he wants and more importantly he will go into parenthood with a gift of emotional regulation. He will have a new parenting model that will benefit my future grandchildren.

So yes, this new way of parenting takes a lot more creativity, patience, and it’s time consuming. I’m not going to get results overnight. He isn’t going to immediately comply with every request I make, but the long-term goal has always been to raise a MAN who will do right in this world because it’s right, not because it’s expected. My goal is to raise a human being with true empathy and compassion; someone who won’t “just follow orders” because someone evil is threatening him into compliance. I want to raise human beings who question the authority when the rules are unethical or marginalize a group of people unfairly. I want them to stand up against injustice and to recognize that injustice. I want them to smash the patriarchy!

The very LAST thing I want to do is raise another asshole like the ones I see on social media all the time. And if I do my job right, maybe, just maybe humanity might not be so doomed after all.

I’ve had this entry sitting in my documents file for almost 2 years now but wasn’t sure if I should share it. It’s not exactly a pretty picture and I hate showing the uglier sides of myself, but today I came across it and re-read it, and I’ve decided that YES, this needs to be out there. This needs to be said because somewhere out there is a new mother who is overwhelmed by other people telling her she needs to just put the baby in the bassinet and she’s getting NO sleep and she feels guilty for the times she ignores the “advice” and falls asleep with baby in the bed with her. So this post is for those mamas who think that they are horrible human beings because the “sleep training” isn’t working and they are at the brink of madness trying to get their child to sleep on their own. This is for the mamas who want to co-sleep, but continue to have opposition from their support people.

I’m sharing this to tell you all it’s OK. This night was my breaking point. I had tried up until that point to do what everyone else said was best for my son, even knowing that he just wanted and needed the comfort of my arms to fall asleep and stay asleep. Now, at almost 2 years old, he still reaches for me. He still likes to wrap his little arms around mine. He feels safer and more secure in my arms. I’m able to slip away and join my husband in the living room to watch a few hours of TV or join him in the bedroom, or just enjoy a few moments to myself to write or play video games. It wasn’t always this way; there were nights when I was trapped in the bed with nothing but my Nintendo DS, a pokemon game, and my tablet for reading and watching movies on YouTube. But it gets easier, and I no longer have nights like this, where I’m fighting with my son to sleep on his own. Some nights he rolls away from me and I get more space, other nights he’s practically sleeping on top of me like he did as a baby. I’m at least getting sleep though; maybe not as much as if I’d sleep trained him, but I’m confident that I made the right decision after looking back on what that night was like for me physically as well as emotionally.

This took place the summer that my son turned 2 months old…

12am

Baby is hungry again. No problem, I’m fine with staying up a bit longer. Husband is going to bed. He’ll get a few hours to himself and I get a few quiet hours to read blog posts on my laptop. Baby will eat and fall asleep, and Mommy gets time to herself without Daddy interrupting her thoughts. It’s win-win for everyone.

1am

Baby isn’t quite ready for a DEEP sleep yet. No problem. Mommy is enjoying her computer time, even while rocking Baby in her arms to try to get him to sleep.

2am

Baby appears to be asleep now. Tiptoe to bed, carefully lie Baby down in bassinet. No, don’t fuss, it’s okay…go back to sleep…good. False alarm. Drift off to sleep.

You have to be kidding me! Seriously why the fuck won’t you stay asleep? I just fed you. No, you don’t want the breast? Well don’t pull off it like that! Oh great, now milk is spraying everywhere. Well you’re the one that got it going and then pulled off. What did you expect? Yeah, you’re pissed it sprayed you in the face? How do you think I feel? Where is that towel? I hope it’s not all over my blanket and pillow like last time. I just washed these sheets.

2:45am

Fine, I give up. I’ll go to your room, rock you in the chair. What’s that, Husband? YOU want ME to calm down? YOU’LL take him? And do what? No. You go back to sleep. After all, you need your rest. YOU have a job. I just stay home.

I just had a very violent thought of throwing you across the room. At the wall. So I hold you tighter and whisper that I love you.

3:45am

I’m crying and you won’t stop squirming. My back is killing me as I try to hold on to you. I can’t do this anymore. I’m so frustrated with you right now and if I don’t put you down…

3:46am

I’m sorry. I’m a horrible mother, I know. Yeah, that floor isn’t comfortable. Sorry for that too, but I had to put you down. Be happy I put you on top of your receiving blanket first. I love you, but you’re driving me insane.

I can’t stay mad at you when you look up at me with those eyes. I feel horrible. I’m the worst mother in the world and you’re a beautiful, innocent child. How can I be so upset with you. You just want to be held. Okay, I’m picking you up. Shhh. It’s okay. Don’t cry. Mommy’s sorry. I love you so much and I’m sorry. Okay, we’ll rock in the chair some more. I’m sorry I can’t comfort you more than this. This is all I can do.

4am

Yeah, I know you just spit up all over my arm. It’s cool. I don’t care anymore. Why bother wiping it off? Hell, my boobs are leaking all over me anyway so what’s the difference? I’ll just stare at the wall while you attempt to climb all over me. You’re two months old; you can’t get too far. I wonder if this is how it starts. Maybe I AM depressed already and just can’t see it? I should really consider meeting up with those other moms for support. Oh hell, like I can even find time right now! I just want to sleep. Please…just let me slee–wait a minute. Are you–?

4:15am

YES! You are asleep! Careful…don’t move too fast. Okay, get the door open…shut it before the cats can get in. Yep, you’re finally out! Okay…get into bed, lean back on the pillows…ahhh.

4:30am

That’s right. Snuggle on Mommy. Let’s all sleep for at least five hours. Fuck those “well-meaning” relatives! Bed-sharing just WORKS for me and I’ll be damned if I’ll feel guilty. I tried the bassinet and it didn’t work. Besides, if he wakes again I can just put him on my breast.

It started Friday afternoon and continued into Saturday. The toddler was cutting molars and had spent the whole week wanting to be up “in arms”. He incessantly screamed, either due to the irritation of his gums OR because he likes the sound of his own voice at high decibels. Or he’s just trying to see how loud he can scream before my eardrums shatter; just to give you an idea of what I mean by screaming. When he wasn’t screaming he was climbing all over the furniture, grabbing for everything and anything that he shouldn’t be, and making a mess. He was pulling every toy out of the toy boxes and drawers. He pulled all his books out of his bookshelf. And rather than leave them in a big heap close to their home, he decided it would be fun to throw them across the room, or at me. If I told him to stop he hit me. If I put him in time out he’d scream bloody murder. If I was on the phone he’d scream in my ear or try to climb onto my back and steal the phone. He bit me!

If that wasn’t bad enough, he resisted naptime. When naptime arrived I took him into his bedroom and lay down with him on the mattress. He proceeded to climb all over me and insisted on nursing the entire hour and a half! If I tried to move away, he’d wake up. He also insisted on being able to hold my hair in his fist and screamed if I took it away. This was very much the state of things at bedtime too. I spent a lot of time in his bedroom, is what I’m saying.

And before I get any crap about nursing and co-sleeping, let me just extend my middle finger and tell you that NOT doing those things would have made everything WORSE. So kindly go to hell with that condescending “advice”.

Anyway, in addition to not playing by himself, not allowing me even five minutes to get things done without wanting “up” in my arms (and screaming/crying if I didn’t pick him up right then and there) and not getting proper sleep, he also didn’t want to eat! Normally he’s a good eater. He’ll eat whatever is on our plates, and if I hand him a plate of his own food he will eat it no problem. But that week he decided that rather than EAT his frozen vegetables, he was going to dump the bowl on the glass coffee table and spread them all over it and the floor! He did the same with his cheerios. And this was AFTER I had bothered to sweep and mop the floor.

Husband came home around 6pm every night, but often had things to do after that and so I was STILL left all day and part of the evening with a highly fussy toddler while HE got pissed/annoyed at me for not “paying attention” when our son got into his crap that he had left out where he could get it. Or because he had to get ready to go out for his training for his second career opportunity he’s started up, and our son was distracting him by following him around and screaming. Because it’s SOOOOO hard to get dressed and tie a friggen tie when you have a kid screaming and following you around. Oh, wait, I have to do my hair, put on makeup, get dressed and it’s somehow “not a big deal” for me to be expected to watch our son at the same time! The only response I could give was “welcome to MY world”, because seriously, I was just DONE.

So…that brings us to Friday and Saturday. I’ve dealt with this kid all week with NO help from anyone else in this stupid house. The men are acting like their crap is way more important/can’t wait until later. I haven’t been able to shower or brush my hair. I haven’t had a moment’s peace and the house is a cluttered mess. It’s utter chaos and I’m stressed to the point of breaking.

So Friday afternoon I just gave up. I couldn’t do it anymore. 3pm and I was DONE! I took my son into his bedroom, left the door open, and lay down and took a nap. He was lying beside me, nursing on and off as he liked. Every few minutes he would get up and wander out of the room, grab a toy, bring it to me, and lie back down. I have super sensitive hearing; I know where he is and what he’s doing without having to see him. So I was listening for him the entire time I’m lying down on the floor mattress in his room, lights out, trying to calm my shot nerves. He comes back, settles down beside me, and quietly plays with a toy.

Grandpa gets home soon after that. I don’t get up. I roll over and close my eyes as my son runs to the door to greet him. I remain in the bed, drifting in and out of consciousness while Grandpa plays with him. In all this time, not once do I hear “where’s Mommy?” nor do I hear my name. After about 20 minutes he goes down to his suite and my son runs back to the bedroom. That’s when I get the phonecall from my irate husband, demanding to know why I was sleeping while our son was wandering around the house by himself. I snap “he wasn’t! I was just in the bedroom. He ran to greet your dad and I just stayed in the room the whole time because I’m tired and don’t want to deal with shit right now.” Husband tells me that his dad assumed I was sleeping. Well thanks for asking! Ugh!

Anyway, Father-In-Law basically got nosy, assumed I was being negligent, and now I’m getting my wrist slapped like a naughty child over it. I guess it’s easier to be a judgmental ass than it is to…oh, I don’t know, actually HELP OUT? But no, that hasn’t occurred to him at all.

So this leads to Saturday. Husband once again has to work and I once again get NO break. My energy reserves are shot to hell and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. So when my son gets up in the morning, I keep the door shut. I lie there in the bed, pulling the covers over my head and try to sleep. He can’t hurt himself in this room and he can’t destroy anything except for his own things, so why the hell not? He proceeds to climb all over me, pull his books out of his bookshelf, and amuse himself. He periodically comes back to me to snuggle and nurse, then lies down to nap. We stay in that room until 12 noon, when the husband gets home from work on his lunch break. I pretend we just got up from a “nap”. No need to tell him that naptime lasted all morning because I didn’t feel like getting up.

Now to the outside world looking in, if they’d seen the events of these two days they’d assume I was a neglectful mother. But that’s the trouble with assumptions. I’m a very loving mother by design. I would have to be loving considering the way that I parent my son. I refuse to leave him to cry himself to sleep (or, “sleep train”) and I’m weaning him at his own pace. He knows that he can always come to me for comfort. In fact, on Friday when I had the door open at one point he got scared by the cats (because he was tormenting Bella and she took a swipe at him). He ran right into the bedroom and nursed for a few seconds for comfort, then was okay again and ran off to play. No tears, no fear, no distress. Just “mommy, I’m scared, I need a quick hug and nursies.”

But all this giving of myself takes its toll, because of COURSE it does! And this kid isn’t easy to care for because he’s so intense and focused on what he wants. He’s a big ball of energy and he will burn it all off and crash, then wake up and be ready for more. And when he’s cutting teeth he is The Worst because he takes his misery out on me. He bites and chews on everything and I’m constantly chasing him down for putting something else in his mouth (often paper or thread off of a blanket). It’s physically exhausting and emotionally draining, and it doesn’t help when I’m alone with him all day only to have my husband come home and expect me to “keep him busy/happy” because HE needs to get stuff done.

So yes, every now and then it gets to be too much for me. Moms need breaks too! It’s just a shame that my father in law doesn’t seem to realize that if I’m snapping at my child, it’s because I haven’t had the chance to truly relax in days, if not weeks. And yes, it’s great that he takes his grandson for ten minutes to the park or with him on an errand, but that is hardly enough time for me to recharge. And I get that my husband has to work, but when he’s NOT working he still seems to need to “get things done” that I KNOW he can put off for at least a few hours. But no, everything is more important and nobody in this house seems to get that I’m only stressed out because of the fact that when they are home they are off doing their own thing. And then *I* get called out for breaking down every once in a while, because clearly I’m not supposed to do anything but be a Stepford Wife (in Father in Law’s opinion) or else just “chill out” (according to the Husband).

So what is the lesson here? We shouldn’t be quick to judge moms in their “ugly” moments.

That mother who gets up in the morning and immediately turns on the TV for her kids and leaves it on all day? She’s doing what she needs to do in order to survive the day.

The mom who hasn’t left her house all day and is still in her pjs at 6pm when her husband arrives home? She might not have had time to get dressed, too busy chasing after kids and trying to clean the house or accomplish some other tasks that needed to be done.

The mom who takes her kid to McDonalds? She probably just didn’t want to cook that day or hasn’t had the chance to go to the grocery store, or she’s just really craving mcnuggets.

The mom who hands her kid her phone and lets them play with it in the store? Probably just doesn’t want to deal with anymore tantrums today.

The mom who cosleeps and nurses her toddler? She’s found a way to catch up on the sleep that she desperately needs and can’t seem to get any other way.

And the mom who yells at her kid or just lies on the couch/in bed while they tear through the house? She might have been having a really crappy week and just couldn’t take it anymore.

Now that rally day has officially come and gone I can finally take a breather and relax…somewhat. I mean, I can’t TRULY relax since I have a toddler who has all the qualities of both me AND my husband. In other words, he does what he likes, won’t take “no” for an answer, and will totally go and do the thing you told him not to do (for the hundredth time) just to show you that you don’t have the right to tell him what to do. Yeah, this is going to be a fun 18 years, for sure. But hey, if it means he grows up to be as stubborn and driven as his parents, then at least I won’t have to worry about society destroying his spirit. At least he won’t grow up thinking that any of this oppression is okay.

And really, that’s all I really want. If my son grows up to be mindful of the fact that NO ONE has total authority of him, and that he in turn has no authority over anyone else, then at least I’ll have done my part to raise one less asshole human being.

Because seriously people? There are WAY too many assholes in this world right now, and we as mothers of the next generation of tiny humans need to make sure that these humans don’t grow up to be assholes like our current generation.

How do we do that? Well, for starters, how about we look at how we’re treating others; specifically other women.

See, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but women are pretty much treated as lesser beings in our world, and it’s not just the men who are doing it. WE ARE DOING IT TO EACH OTHER.

Every time a woman wears something “provocative”, she is told to “cover up”. Every time a woman chooses to whip out a breast, sans cover, to feed her infant, there is a very good chance that someone, somewhere, has something to say about it.

“Why can’t she go somewhere else/be more modest/have some decency and not expose us to that?”

If a mother speaks out about abuses or mistreatment in the delivery room, or refuses to comply with her care provider’s orders, she is a “bad mother”, “willfully endangering her child for her birth experience”. She is expected to lie down, shut up, and submit to whatever the “expert” wishes of her “for the sake of her child”.

If a woman takes naked photos of herself to send to her husband and those photos are stolen and put on the internet, it is “her own fault for taking them in the first place”.

If a mother chooses to share a photo of herself breastfeeding her child, someone will “warn her” that there are perverts out there and that she shouldn’t be doing that.

We are taught from an early age not to ever walk home alone after dark, to never go to parties or a club without a group of friends, to never “invite” unwanted attention in the first place. We are taught that what happens to us is entirely based on how we act, dress, or present ourselves to the rest of the world.

We are expected to remain chaste, innocent, modest, and demure. Those of us who do not fit into this mold are branded as “bad girls” or “fallen women”. We’re “damaged goods”. We’re “sluts” if we enjoy sex without necessarily wanting a commitment. We’re “immodest” if we choose to embrace our bodies and flaunt our curves instead of covering up. Yes, even in the summer, when less clothing means more comfort, we’re expected to be “decent” about it. There are entire dress codes based around this premise that a woman showing “too much” skin is indecent.

Worse, we are taught to shame women who do not conform and fall into line. When a story is shared of a woman being victimized, be it rape or mistreatment by a care provider, the growing consensus seems to be that it was “her fault”. “If she’d only done her research/hired a different provider/not worn that revealing outfit/not consumed alcohol/not flirted with those guys/not been so “difficult”/ not had such unrealistic expectations, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.” Or they will say “there has to be more to this story than what’s being said here. There had to be a reason this happened.”

No, there is no REASON for any of this to happen other than the fact that the attacker, be it a rapist or a doctor, is an asshole who thinks that woman’s body belongs to him (or her). There is no other explanation for the fact that too often society seems to assume that a woman is to blame for what happens to her.

And you know the real horror in this? OTHER WOMEN ARE THE ONES BLAMING THE VICTIMS. It’s not men who are saying “she should have known better.” If it were only men, then at least we would be able to unite against our oppressors, but it’s not. It’s other women, our sisters, our mothers, our friends. It’s other women who are saying “just be good and obedient and accept that this is the way things are.”

Well I’m calling bullshit on all of it! I’m here to say that the problem is not women not doing what they “should be” and it’s not men being evil. It’s PEOPLE. PEOPLE are being evil and cruel and it’s not because we were born that way and it’s not because this is how it’s always been. It’s because we, as a society, do not value women as human beings. And as much as I hate to blame the parents, in this case it IS the parents who are to blame.

We are the ones teaching our kids to de-value women. We teach our daughters to de-value themselves every time we put the responsibility on THEM to protect themselves from rape. Instead we should be teaching our sons not to rape. We should teach them not to oppress. We should teach them to respect women, not for what they can do for them, but simply because they are human beings.

Instead of teaching our daughters about body image, we should be teaching our sons that women are not here for decoration. We do not OWE them something pretty to look at. Our sexuality does not belong to them.

We should teach our sons that breasts have a real and important function. They exist so we can feed our babies. Breasts are not inherently sexual; our society has simply made them that way. Every time we tell a mother to cover up, we are further instilling that belief into our children. Every time we insist that nudity on TV needs to be censored, that it’s inappropriate, we make it a forbidden fruit. Instead we should be desensitizing our society to nudity, making it so commonplace that a naked woman is no longer a big deal.

Imagine, for a moment, if nudity was so common on beaches and on TV that people didn’t even bat an eye. Imagine if we were so saturated with naked breasts that, much like after watching a couple seasons of HBO, we no longer reacted at all to their display. Imagine if a woman could whip out her breast in a crowded, public place to feed her child and no one even noticed. Imagine if no one cared.

Imagine if nudity was so commonplace that no one would bother to steal photos of naked celebrities. Imagine if there was never a mention of a nip slip or accidental exposure. That seeing a naked breast on screen or in real life was as exciting as seeing an elbow or a knee cap. Imagine if no one cared?

Imagine if a woman in labor was treated as the sole decision maker, supported in whatever choices she makes, and that any violation of this by care providers was met with public outrage and a cry for that doctor to be fired immediately. Imagine if no one ever said “I’m sure there’s more to the story” or “that mother was being selfish”.

Imagine if a woman could wear a low cut top or short skirt or even just pasties and a thong and not once have a man catcall her.

Imagine if we stopped telling our daughters not to drink at parties/flirt with boys and lead them on/dress provocatively and instead taught our sons not to assume that just because a girl is talking to them it mean that she owes him sexual access to her later. That sometimes when a girl wants to be his friend she really just wants to be friends, and that’s okay. What if we taught our sons to simply be nice to women without expecting anything in return. That being chivalrous is a good quality NOT because it will ensure he gets a girlfriend, but because it’s polite! What if we taught our boys that no matter what they do or how “nice” they are, or how handsome they are, the world does not owe them a beautiful woman. That women are free to make their own choices and that one cannot “win” someone else as a mate because women are not prizes to be won.

What if we taught our children that men and women are deserving of the same rights and privileges, regardless of how they act or look. Regardless of whether they are mothers or fathers, husbands or wives, and regardless of whether they are promiscuous or celibate. What if we truly taught our children not to judge, instead of merely paying lip service. What if we stopped blaming the victims and taught our children that while it is always a good idea to be careful, that they are never to blame for an attack or violation. What if our daughters never felt shame over their bodies due to the comments of someone else? What if they grew up with the freedom to embrace their sexuality without also fearing an attack from a man? What if instead of being told to “save themselves for marriage”, girls were told that they are in control of their own sexuality and it is THEIR choice whom they share it with. What if we stopped expecting the oppressed to behave a certain way and instead focused on the behaviors and expectations of the oppressors?

It may seem like I’m talking about a utopia that could never exist, but it could. It could easily exist in just a few generations if we as mothers took the responsibility upon ourselves and stopped attacking one another. If we stopped assuming that the victims are to blame for their situation, stopped condemning other women for their choices, stopped insisting that some women are just “asking for it” and instead turned to our sons and told them “this will never be okay” in response to a story of abuse. If we told our children that their bodies belong to them and them alone, that they don’t owe anyone anything and that in turn no one owes them anything. That being kind and considerate is expected of them not because it will win them friends or a mate, but simply because being an asshole won’t be tolerated.

I know it’s not going to happen. I know I’m delusional to think that things could ever change for the better. After all, we’re still far too busy hating each other and condemning our sisters for choices we could never make for ourselves. We’re too busy assuming that other women don’t care as much as we do, or that they’re selfishly only thinking of themselves and their comfort over that of everyone else. And again I must point out that we don’t owe anyone anything. I am not responsible for your comfort or your happiness. I do NOT have to cover up and sacrifice my comfort for yours. If you do not want to see me breastfeeding my child, then don’t look. If you wouldn’t make the same choices I make in how I birth my child, then don’t make those choices. No one is forcing you to agree with anyone or make the same decisions they made, but for crying out loud show a little compassion! Stop focusing on what the victim could have done differently and instead focus on the attacker and how wrong they were to violate a fellow human being.

And then maybe we’ll actually manage to raise a generation of kids who don’t all grow up to be assholes.

My son turned 1 not too long ago, so I feel that I am now qualified as a mother to bitch about this topic.

People, when did birthdays get so fucking complicated?

When I was a kid my birthday parties were mostly just family. I have video footage from the 80s of a three year old me running around in a frilly blue dress (and later, just my underwear because that was just how I rolled) and opening up presents from my aunts, uncles, parents and grandparents. There was ONE kid at my party in those days and she was probably only my friend because our grandmothers liked to hang out and gossip over coffee and we inevitably tagged along on those coffee dates since our grandmas were our babysitters.

As I got older I was allowed to invite 6 friends from school to a SEPARATE and SMALL party, normally held after school. It was usually pizza for dinner followed by cake. Dad only ever made up goodie bags once in all that time, for my 8th birthday, and only because my Nana had provided them along with the rest of the Snow White theme stuff she’d had leftover from the birthday dinner at her place.

Nana’s parties were the ones where balloons were put up everywhere, streamers were hung, and they had a “theme” of whatever characters happened to be on the plates and cups she’d picked up from the store (likely on sale, because Nana was smart and knows how to shop). The cake was made from a cake mix and then she frosted it with the usual icing (made with icing sugar and margarine) and then to be super creative she would have some sort of figurine on top (or a few of them). One year she had bought a Littlest Pet Shop cat with her kittens (it was probably a set that would sell for $7.99 today) and put them on top of the cake. My brother got Power Ranger action figures (the small plastic ones for $5, not the ones with small parts that kids can choke on). That was pretty fucking awesome because in addition to all the other presents we had the cake to look forward to and the cake had MORE TOYS for us.

As a tween I got ONE sleepover with about five girls, and I think one or two ended up not showing up. Can’t remember. My BFF was there though, so that’s all that really matters.

My birthday parties as a Teen were even smaller. A dinner either at a restaurant of my choosing or dinner at home with whatever cake I wanted. My Sweet Sixteen had a banner, pink balloons, pink leopard print streamers and a cake. My BFF came down with my Nana and Poppa for that birthday, because at that time she was still living in our small city of nowheresville and I’d moved down to the big city four hours away. Two other girls also came to the party. Anyway, the games were whatever we came up with (I think we watched a movie in my room? Listened to music? Hey BFF if you’re reading and actually remember that party can ya help a girl out here?). The food was…food shaped. It was Pizza from Pizza Hut and we drank Coke or Pepsi or Sprite. We ate potato chips by the handful (or I did. Not sure if my friends were “on a diet” yet or if they still knew how to let loose).

And obviously now my birthday is spent doing whatever I want and then I get to pick out the food and a dessert that I get a bigger portion of. Obviously.

This is what birthdays were like growing up and they were awesome. I have plenty of happy memories and while I don’t remember every “theme” I do remember the joy of being surrounded by my family.

But now I’m a mom and holy shit things are different! I thought a few of my friends were nuts for going “all out” for their kids’ parties. I heard of (and personally knew) moms who would invite every kid in the class/daycare. They would spend days on a cake or making decorations. Tons of stress and planning went into these parties, and I would ask why (in my head. To be clear I never actually said anything). I understand that some of these mothers were artsy and enjoyed making the crafts and that it was mostly for them, not the child. But still, I saw that stress and that work and I thought to myself, “no, I don’t want that to be my experience.” I am not like those mothers.

Cut to NOW, and even just before my son’s birthday. It’s like living on the outside and seeing the crazy and thinking it’s isolated, and then you become ONE OF THEM and see that it’s expected. Like seriously WTF?

I was asked by no less than five people what I was going to do for Hunter’s birthday. I wanted a small party with just family. Apparently that’s not something people do anymore. “No kids?” they asked, disappointed. “Well, his cousin is coming because his aunt is invited,” I say, shrugging. His cousin is a few months old. Also, apparently friends with kids now get offended when you tell them it’s just family.

Dude, I am seriously letting you off the hook here! You can actually enjoy the weekend without having a bunch of screaming kids around that aren’t yours. You don’t have to dress up or even leave your house. You don’t have to worry about cheating on your diet, or if you don’t care about that, you don’t have to worry about your KIDS getting hyper and ruining your evening quiet time. You don’t have to go to the store and shell out money on a gift for someone else’s offspring (although I make a point of telling people they don’t need to buy a present). You don’t have to buy wrapping paper or a card. You don’t have to endure hours of fake pleasantries with my family whom you only barely know, or pretend to care about what other moms think. You don’t have to threaten your offspring to be on their best behavior. I’m giving you a free pass here. TAKE IT!

But no, that’s not what we do. Instead we post crap on Pinterest and Facebook and share the fuck out of it and comment on how clever and awesome the mom is for making individual cupcakes into monsters or flowers or whatever. We come up with elaborate “theme” parties for our kids complete with a bunch of games because god forbid anything they do be unstructured. And then we comment on posts like this and bash the moms who insist that all that crap is stupid and they’re not doing it.

And then I read the post and agree with it, then read the moronic comments (because my god, it’s like a train wreck and I secretly enjoy watching stupid people make asses of themselves and I don’t work retail anymore so there you go). And then *I* have to comment on the stupidity of their comments.

It’s a never-ending cycle, people, and I’m tired of it.

So here’s my list of reasons why I’m not playing this game.

1) I’m not a Pinterest Mom. I have decided that for the purposes of this blog, the term “Pinterest Mom” is defined as that mother who goes all out with her crafts and her baking and her super creative ideas and games. I’m not her. I’m not spending my time coming up with games and crafts for my kid or myself to do. I don’t make decorations, I buy them. If I bake a cake or frost some cookies I did it with store-bought icing and sprinkles. Hey look, I cut cookies out into cool shapes with the plastic cookie cutters I got and actually managed to put colored icing on them…

…like, maybe for special occasions. Maybe. But if I skip that last step, be happy they’re at least in cool shapes instead of just spooned onto the cookie sheet. Frost them yourself if you want. Icing’s on the spice rack with the sprinkles.

2) I’m not a Party Mom. You know what my ideal birthday party is? Less than 10 people over for cake and pizza. Know what people expect of me now that I have a kid? Way more than that. I’m not that mom. I’m not the mom who will invite every goddamn parent and child in my friends list. I’m not the mom who enjoys lots of people. I’m the mom who would rather just have family over for the day and be done with it.

3) I’m not competitive. Like, seriously NOT competing here, people. I’m not saying all this to be edgy or to be controversial. I’m saying all this so that other non-competing moms who want to be friends know that I’m really not THAT mom. I won’t see your attempt at a theme party for your kid and then try to outdo you. I won’t look at your store bought cake and then make a point to say that my fancy ass cake took three days to make from scratch. I probably bought my cake too. It’s easier than trying to frost the damn thing.

4) I seriously do not care about half this shit. If you go all out for your party with the decorations and the food and the cake, you know what I’ll notice? How hard you’re trying to impress people. I’ll be questioning WHY the whole time. I’ll think of how much work you’re putting into something that’s not a big deal. I’ll see you stressing out over the decorations or hear you comment about how you barely slept the past few days because you were working on the cake and I will shake my head. It’s not that I think what you’re doing is a waste of time, because obviously the results are amazing, but just understand that I don’t expect it of you. I would happily attend your child’s party even if you didn’t do ANYTHING for it. If you said, “hey, we can’t afford party bags” I’d say “no problem”. If you decided not to do a fancy cake or serve food I would still come over, bringing my own food for us to share if the situation called for it. Or we would eat before we arrived. No gifts? No problem. Same goes for my parties. If I invite you then I’m asking you to come celebrate with us. I do not expect a gift out of it. In fact, save your money; Hunter has enough toys from family and you have your own families to bestow gifts upon. Truly the expectation of buying a gift for every birthday party you’re invited to could get expensive if your kid happens to be popular. It’s like the expectation of buying everyone a present at Christmas. It’s a nice thought, but please understand that money is a precious commodity and buying a gift for everyone could mean that we can’t afford to pay our bills. Same goes for birthday parties, weddings, and every other expensive celebration. I’m not saying those things aren’t nice. I’m not saying people who choose to spend the money are careless or stupid. I’m just saying that for THIS family, it’s not necessarily a priority.

5) I know how it feels to be the odd-mom out. Or rather, the odd kid. I grew up in a single-father household and Dad did the best he could, but he wasn’t “that mom”. We couldn’t afford to be that family. My parties were small and simple because we had no choice. Crafts cost money. Or time. Or both. Time is an important commodity and how Dad chose to spend it was to just BE with his kids. We didn’t spend weeks leading up to our birthdays slaving over hundreds of little paper decorations. We didn’t hand-paint any “goodie bag” items. We didn’t agonize over baking a fancy cake or making our party “memorable”. But other moms did. It made my parties look “lame” to other kids and they made fun of me. It made ME feel bad, but it probably made Dad feel worse. But really, it made me think that none of it really mattered. If other kids were going to be so shallow then so be it. Who the fuck cares? They obviously were only friends with me if they could get something out of it, and who really needs that? So rather than grow up thinking that I need to overcompensate for what I was “deprived” of, I’m going to just keep it simple. It teaches a better lesson to my son and his REAL friends anyway.

6) Parties are fucking expensive! I am horrified by the attitudes of some of the moms these days. In some of the comments on the various “let’s ban loot bags” posts a lot of them complain that other moms shouldn’t be so cheap. “Why have a party at all if you’re going to cut corners?” they say. They point out that they spend maybe $5 per kid and they have a great time with their themed goodie bags that were thoughtfully hand-picked by the hostess. Or hand-made for “just a few dollars”. Missing the point, people! It’s STILL fucking expensive. How many kids are at these parties again? Oh yeah, way more than two. There’s probably like eight or more kids and they ALL “deserve” a thank you gift for coming to the party? And we’re spending $5 per kid, right? Do the math. You invite even just 5 kids (what Dad’s limit was, with or without the goodie bags) and that’s $25 you just spent. You just bought $25-$50 worth of crap for someone else’s offspring on YOUR kid’s birthday! That’s $25-$50 you could have just spent on the fucking present! And then we’re supposed to have food for kids AND adults, right? And we’re supposed to be more innovative and “health conscious” these days so it should be homemade. I can’t just order Pizza and have pop? No? Fuck this, then!

7) If I don’t do all this shit I’ll be seen as “not trying hard enough”. Seriously, I read several comments by these Pinterest moms and a lot of them were all “oh, you don’t want to do the work involved. Your poor deprived kid.” They all say crap like how I’m selfish or cheap or that it’s really not that much of a hardship to “put a little effort” into a “fun” party theme. Then they all say “look at what I made!” and display a picture or describe what they did to make their party so much better than mine. You know, because they CARE! And I obviously don’t love my kid enough to CARE the way THEY care. Whatever, dude.

8) It all ends the same anyway. If I make a Pinterest-worthy party cake it still gets eaten the same way a store bought one would, or cupcakes from a box of cake mix. I’ll still have leftover food, whatever that might be. The decorations still go in the trash or are saved in a shoebox for next year. The goodie bags I’ve received from Jane’s parties usually end up half-trashed. I maybe keep the useful stuff but the candy is probably still in the cupboard because if I remind my husband that we have it, he will eat all of it in one sitting and then bounce off the walls and annoy me. He’s like a kid with candy, I swear. I didn’t need to babysit anyone’s kid to know what having one would be like, or to “prepare me” for becoming a mother. I’ve had my husband for that, thank you very much. Anyway, my point is that all that effort and time and money spent on the party? Not worth it. A simple and generic party is way cheaper, requires less clean up, and I can actually enjoy watching my kid have fun without watching the clock. That reminds me…

9) I don’t buy into the Structured Play nonsense. There won’t be a bunch of party games because it takes away from the fun of actually PLAYING with the toys. I’m also going to go ahead and have a separate party for kids and a separate one for family. The family party will be about opening the presents. The kid party will be about playing with the toys the family got for my son to enjoy. See, the problem with “party games” is that parents have to be watching the clock and sticking to a schedule and then they have to round up the kids for said game. Then little Jenny gets upset because she’s not winning. The birthday kid thinks HE should win every game. I’m expected to give every little shithead a trophy for participating as well as an actual prize. No thank you. Not happening. Put on a Disney movie if it’s raining or have the little bastards run around outside and play with the toys. I’ll be watching on the sidelines and chatting with the guests I actually wanted to invite.

10) It’s supposed to be about the fucking kids! This is the line that the Pinterest Moms like to use against me and the rest of my “group” of “party poopers”. “Won’t these selfish moms PLEASE think of the children!” they cry in a voice that sounds a lot like Helen Lovejoy of The Simpsons (at least in my head that’s what they sound like). And to them I arch my brow and cross my arms and say “REALLY????” Are we REALLY going to pretend that all these theme parties and decorations and fancy ass cupcakes and cakes are REALLY “for the kids”? Are we REALLY going to pretend that we spent “months” or “weeks” hand-crafting all these individual mini umbrellas or whatever the theme is, and that the kids were “happy to help” and enjoyed the whole party planning process? Are we REALLY going to pretend they weren’t rolling their eyes and thinking they’d rather go play on their own instead of sitting at the kitchen table every night or every weekend helping you with all this crap? Are we REALLY going to pretend that this awesome theme party with everything hand-made and “creative” is really any better than my store-bought, last minute party? Are we really going to pretend that kids WANT the healthy snacks and the gluten-free cake and the non-GMO whatevers over the hotdogs/pizza/sugary treats? Are we going to keep pretending this isn’t about us and our need to be better than the mom next door? Seriously, get over yourselves.

Oh, and by the way, my son had a lovely birthday on the 17th of May. We had chips, pop, a salad that my mother in law made, a cake she bought from her store with boston cream icing, and hamburgers/hot dogs on the BBQ. The guest list included my grandparents, Ty’s grandparents, Ty’s parents, Ty’s sister, and an older couple who is friends with Ty’s dad, as well as our ex roommate who is “uncle” to our son. My own parents couldn’t make it because they suck (just kidding; Dad had to work and Mom lives 4 hours away). My brother works pretty much every weekend and couldn’t get time off. My stepsister had just given birth to her second child three days prior to the party, otherwise she was going to come out with my niece. We blew up a few balloons and put up the generic Happy Birthday banner that we use for everyone. And my son didn’t care. He’s fucking ONE! He was more excited about the bike Grandpa got him and the wagon Nana and Poppa brought down, which was a gift from my aunts and uncles. He was more interested in eating the wrapping paper than opening up more presents. He smashed his piece of cake and not once did I hear him whine about how it was just a simple white cake with his name on it. His 3 month old cousin didn’t care that there weren’t any goodie bags. And we still had a fucking blast!

Best part is that his grandmother, my mother in law, did all the work. I got to enjoy the day with my son. I got to watch him open his presents and I got to visit with my grandparents. I got to actually enjoy the party and not worry about a schedule or carefully arrange decorations or any of it. It was totally effortless, and it was still an awesome party! No Pinterest needed.

It’s summer time, my favorite time of the year. It’s a time for swimming and ice cream and all sorts of cold drinks and treats. It’s also the best time of the year for my washing machine, because in these hot summer months I rarely have to worry about tons of laundry.

My son was born one year ago plus 4 days, and I have found even more reasons why the summer is a great time to have a baby. For one thing, I rarely had to dress him in more than his diaper. This suited me just fine, since skin-to-skin contact was the key to keeping him calm and happy, and we totally avoided that Purple Crying, or Colic, that all new parents are warned is inevitable. Breastfeeding was a snap since I was often walking around in spagetti strap sundresses or bedsheet togas. I didn’t much care what I wore at home since my boobs would leak all over everything anyway. It was just easier to go topless or as close to naked as I could get. And there was that added bonus of being able to walk everywhere during the day with my son napping in his stroller; I shed all my baby weight and was down to my HIGHSCHOOL weight within three months! So yeah, when I plan my next kid I’m going to be shooting for a birthday in April to July, just for those reasons.

But that’s just a few of the reasons to love summer. I also happen to love it because in the summer I wear next to nothing! No layers of sweaters or tops. Everything is spagetti strap all the time; not because it’s a fashion statement, but because IT IS FUCKING HOT OUTSIDE!

I cannot even think about wearing anything with more material once the temperatures climb up to 25 (Celsius. I don’t know what that is in Farenheit. Look it up)! If I’m indoors then I might wear a tank top with thicker straps to cover my shoulders, but only because the air conditioning is usually cranked up high. But outside? Fuck it, I’m showing as much skin as I can get away with, without feeling totally exposed.

But it’s odd how quickly I’ve forgotten what dressing for the weather used to mean when I was at work or going to school. I forgot that until a few years ago I would carry my light spagetti strap sundresses in a bag and take them to work. I forgot that I would have to wear a blazer over my tops at all times, and swelter in the poorly air conditioned store. I forgot that I would have to change into my sundresses after work just so I wouldn’t die of heat stroke once I got to the bus stop. I forgot about “modesty” and about dress codes and all that shit. I forgot what it was like to have a school dress code as well.

Today I was reminded when I was scrolling through my Facebook feed.

Right now I am in yoga pants and a spagetti strap top with no bra. My near-one year old is sitting in his diaper and nothing else. And while I’m inside my relatively cool house in comfortable clothes with the curtains drawn so that the sun can’t heat up the house, my friend’s five year old daughter is probably outside (as it’s lunch time) wearing a sweater because she was told to cover up.

She had a spagetti strap tank on under that sweater, because she was dressed for the weather and it’s fucking hot outside. Unfortunately her school doesn’t see it that way. They made her wear her sweater because bare shoulders “distract boys/men” and it’s inappropriate.

What. The. Fuck.

Before I point out the fucking obvious reason why this is stupid (SHE’S FUCKING FIVE!!!!), I will get to the real issue here. It’s not the dress code. It’s the mentality behind it.

Girls should not show skin because it’s distracting to the opposite sex.

Why are we still letting this be okay? Why are we STILL saying “sure, no problem!” and covering our shoulders and suffering through the heat waves in silence, all to avoid being branded sluts or whatever the labels are? Why is it that in 30 degree weather it’s the women and girls who are told to “cover up” for the sake of the men and boys who can’t “concentrate”? We are not talking about dressing up in string bikinis or jewel encrusted undies with pasties here. We are talking about a girl or woman wearing a spagetti strap camisole that might not even show a hint of cleavage being told that her shoulders are “distracting”. Halter tops are banned, and they could cover up more chest area than a tank top. No shorts higher than an inch above the knees. It’s ridiculous!

I understand the need for decency. I understand that blatantly flashing boobs and butt at school or work would be inappropriate because nobody wants to see your ass hanging out of your shorts. Just as men should not go commando in loose shorts (EWWW testicles hanging out!) I agree that women should dress so that a wardrobe malfunction is less likely to happen. But banning tanks and spagetti straps altogether is ridiculous and so is the idea that a certain type of clothing shouldn’t be worn because it is distracting to the opposite sex.

But let’s pretend for a minute that this is totally okay. Let’s pretend that men/boys are not in control of their actions and that it’s up to us women/girls to keep those naughty thoughts from occuring in their pea sized male brains. And let’s also pretend that we women are slaves to lust as well! Let’s pretend that boys need a dress code to stop us from staring at them.

In that thread of logic, let’s ban all the articles of clothing men wear that might distract us.

No more tight or fitted jeans; draws too much attention to their lower half, especially if the cut lines are showing.

No board shorts; if they got wet they would be clinging to all the “wrong” places

No sleeveless shirts; because look at those muscular arms

No fitted tee shirts; because look at those pectorals and again, ARMS

Nothing leather; because the sight of a man in leather makes girls’ brains go all mushy. Every girl likes a badboy, after all.

While we’re at it, let’s tell men they can’t ever take off their shirts in our presence. Let’s bring back those old timey swimsuits and cover up even more skin. But we can’t make them too tight because the muscles might be showcased in a way that overloads our sexed up hormonal brains.

And let’s start enforcing this rule right from birth, and tell toddlers to cover up, and insist on wetsuits for preschoolers. No more naked babies.

After all, we don’t want our five year olds and under looking at each other’s bodies and thinking sexual thoughts…Oh, wait, that’s right! They’re fucking FIVE!

Sometimes I hear about the shit that’s going on today and I cringe at the thought that one day I will have to deal with it with my kids. I cringe at the thought that my next child may very well be a girl and I’ll have to fight all these stupid rules. And then I think of my mother in law and how she used to go down to the school and yell at the principal for daring to tell her daughter to cover up when she was dressed in a decent enough summer top, but just so happened to have developed breasts early. I think about her and how she wouldn’t take shit from people in “authority” and I smile. Then I think about the shit that I will have to put up with and smile as well, because I know I’m going to be one of THOSE moms. I’m going to teach my son and my eventual daughter that they are in control of their actions. I will teach them that the way they dress has no bearing on how they “deserve” to be treated. I will stand tall and proud and I will raise hell and I will make sure that NOBODY gets away with telling my children how they should dress.

Because seriously,it’s fucking 25 degrees and my friend’s five year old kid is in a fucking sweatshirt.

I suspect I’m about to piss off some more mommies out there with this post. I also suspect that my lack of caring is why I’m about to post it anyway ;p

About a month ago my husband and I took our son over to visit some friends we haven’t seen in a while. While we were there, I sort of got into it with the wife (with her hubby backing her up) over my continued preference for home birth. She cited the usual “baby would have died if I’d stayed home” crap that most mothers take when their “hospital or nothing” stance is being challenged. I refused to bite, because clearly she believes that shit and I commend her doctor for being able to lie to her so easily. But I don’t have time to go into all the things that are “wrong” with her assumptions because who knows how long my son is going to nap for? Nope, instead I’m going to focus on a different issue: Breastfeeding.

See, it started innocently enough with this woman, we’ll call her Kate, going through her daughters’ toy box for toys of which might entertain our then-six month old son. She pulled out a doll’s bottle and jokingly said “think we could trick him?”

My husband responded “actually, he hasn’t taken a bottle that much. He prefers the boob.”

She was shocked to hear this. She said “You don’t PUMP?” I replied that I did, but found that it was a hassle and that it’s just easier to put him on the breast.

She still didn’t get it. She commented that she could “never do that.” It would be too much of a hassle. Sure, she breastfed, but her girls both got expressed milk or formula too, because it was “easier”.

I was diplomatic enough to tell her that if that worked for her then that’s fine, but it doesn’t work for me.

She continued to look at me like I was crazy.

Whatever.

Your arguments about bottle feeding being “easier” are invalid. Your arguments for getting more sleep because the husband can feed the baby? Also invalid. You know what the ONLY valid arguments for bottle feeding your kid are? The ones that involve you being unable to get your milk supply up because of health issues, or your need to pump and supplement because you’re going back to work. Those I can understand. I can also understand if your kid doesn’t correct a bad latch, or if your kid just prefers a bottle to the breast and won’t feed any other way. Those I get. But don’t try to tell me it’s easier.

I don’t get that.

But I didn’t tell her that. In response to her comments about bottle feeding being easier than just lifting up her shirt, I responded “I guess I’m just too lazy to be washing and filling bottles all the time.”

Yeah, that’s my reasoning.

I will be completely honest here in saying that only a quarter of my reasons for breastfeeding have anything at all to do with health benefits for me OR my offspring. I mean, yeah, those are all fantastic reasons to breastfeed, don’t get me wrong, but the same argument can be said for exercise and eating veggies, and we all know I don’t do either of those things on a regular basis. Unless Caesar Salad counts. It should! They ARE leafy green veggies!

But back on topic…

Here are my top reasons why, at almost 8 months, I am still breastfeeding my son.

1) It’s free. Have you seen how much they charge for formula? That shit is expensive! And I heard that you have to do a trial-and-error to find the one that works for your kid. Potentially that’s money going down the drain for shit your kid can’t use. Also, those free samples that Enfamil sent me in the mail? Yeah, I donated them to the food bank.

2) The poop is less foul. Seriously, breastmilk poop is so much nicer to clean up (as far as the niceness of cleaning up poop is) than formula poop. Have you ever SEEN formula poop or smelled it? You don’t want to; trust me. If I can manage to make cleaning up poop even a little more pleasant, I’m gonna do it. And even with my kid on solids now, it’s still being diluted by breastmilk. Win.

3) No bottles to clean. Okay, so this isn’t always true in the event that we were leaving my son with Grandpa for a few hours while my hubby and I went on a much-needed date, but it’s true most of the time. And it was that 1% of the time that I had to clean bottles of leftover breastmilk that made me so thankful that I wasn’t doing it all the time. Seriously, we have a dishwasher for a reason, and back when we didn’t, the dishes usually piled up until we had to wash a plate to USE a plate.

4) Nothing to mix or warm up. If there’s ONE thing that really annoys me about bottle feeding, it’s this. I will freely admit that whenever my husband suggested I “pump a little extra” for us to warm up later, I wanted to kill him. I am not a patient woman and I loathe the fact that in order to use the stored breast milk, I had to first thaw it out and warm it up. All this while a baby is screaming for food. I am pretty sure you are now realizing that I also hate storing solid foods for “later”, because I have to warm this up too. It is SO much easier to just pop the baby on the breast and be done with it. Which is why the introduction to solid food is a little slower than it “should” be. Eh, breast milk has more nutrients in it than solid food anyway.

5) I get more sleep. Yes, you read that right. Breastfeeding my son exclusively allowed me to sleep more, relax more, and do a hell of a lot less work than bottle feeders. How is that possible with baby on my breast all the time? Oh, let me enlighten you on all the ways… Picture, if you will, two scenarios. One is a breastfeeding mom, the other uses the bottle.

In scenario one, mom is breastfeeding. She is lying peacefully in her bed, all cozy and warm. Baby is either beside her, lying in the crook of her arm, or in the bassinet. Baby stirs and starts fussing for the breast. Mom sleepily reaches for (if in bassinet) baby, and then pops baby on the breast while lying on her side. Baby nurses, mom falls asleep without ever having fully woken in the first place.

In scenario two, we have bottle feeding mommy. Baby cries, mommy has to get up, go mix and/or warm a bottle, and then sit there holding that bottle while baby eats. Or, in the rare event that Dad gets up (believe me, he won’t be doing ALL the feeding at night) Mom STILL has to listen to baby screaming for food until that bottle is warm enough.

So again, I ask you, which mother gets more sleep?

6) It’s effortless. If my son starts getting hungry, no matter where I am, I can feed him. I just lift up my shirt (or go in from the top, depending on what I’m wearing/how cold it is) and latch him on. No need to go to the diaper bag or mix up a bottle. No need to carry bottles of sterilized water everywhere.

7) It shuts him up. Okay, this one MIGHT be a little bit like abusing my power here, but it works. If I need my baby to stop fussing because mommy can’t hear her show over his squawking, then mommy gives him the breast. Nine times out of ten this will work and I can watch my shows in relative silence. Sometimes he’ll even fall asleep, which is a total bonus!

8) It keeps people away. Since my father-in-law lives downstairs and has this pathological refusal to use his own entrance (because he’s too cheap to install a proper lock) this works out very well. He comes upstairs and all I have to do is say “I’m feeding the baby” and he goes away again. Like magic! It’s amazing how much space I suddenly get when I’m nursing my son. I get to sit on the couch furthest from the noise of a party and not be considered rude for doing so. I get to go to bed early so I can lie down and nurse the baby to sleep. I get to STAY in isolation for as long as I want, so if I’ve had enough of “being social” I get to just take my son and retreat to a quiet place, and nobody will bug me!

9) It’s like a band-aid for any upset-ness. If my son is hurt, scared, sad, mad, you name it, the breast fixes it. If he’s tired, the breast will help lull him to sleep faster. It’s magic! And to add to the awesomeness, breast milk is an amazing cure-all. My son got an eye infection at about three months old. I sprayed breast milk into his eye and the next day it was all cleared up. It heals cuts faster too.

10) It gets me out of having to shop. I secretly love it when my son fusses for food while we’re out running errands, because it means I get to find a bench and sit down. Don’t get me wrong, I love shopping, but it’s the PEOPLE I can’t stand. I hate standing in long lines, or trying to maneuver a shopping cart through those cramped aisles, made even more so by the tribes of families who all had to go out at the same fucking time to buy groceries. But because I have the magic boobies, I get to skip all that. My husband can finish up the shopping and I can sit and relax, with the pretense that I’m still feeding my son, even though he really just wanted out of the shopping cart. Major Win!

And that, my friends, is why I am in no hurry to wean my son anytime soon.

I am five years away from having to deal with the evils of the PTA, and as a stay-at-home mom who plans to maybe work 8 hours a week once the first kid and the hypothetical second kid are in school, I know that the question is going to come up a lot. And if I’ve learned anything over the years it’s that time flies by pretty fucking fast. I mean, five years ago I was still dating my husband and now I’m married with a baby. (Where the hell did the time go?) So eventually, I am going to have to come up with a plan, and what better time to do that than before I have to actually think about my responses, right?

So here are all the reasons I won’t be participating when that notice comes home in my kid’s backpack.

I am not a Pinterest Mom

I know I said this in my last post, but it needs to be repeated again. I don’t do crafts that are likely to be judged by other adults, because I suck at them. I do not have the patience for fiddly little pieces of pipe cleaner or felt, or whatever it is that Pinterest Moms use for their fancy ass decorations. You know what I plan to do to decorate for my kid’s birthday parties? Bake a cake (from the box), frost it (badly), maybe add sprinkles and attempt to write “Happy Birthday” with icing so it’s somewhat legible. I might have the husband blow up some balloons, which will be either taped to the wall or float carelessly over the floor. If there are games, my husband is running them. I’m the woman sitting in the corner, pasting a fake smile on her face, and wishing that half the guests hadn’t been invited and wanting the party to END.

I do not DO organized activities

You know why I never participated in extracurricular activities as a kid? It wasn’t because my dad couldn’t afford it (he would have found a way), or that I had to look after my brother (he was 11 by the time I used that excuse). No, the real reason was that every extracurricular activity requires you to show up for every meeting and activity. It requires you to DO SHIT AFTER SCHOOL, after you’ve just spent over 8 hours doing shit. Or to devote your weekends to doing shit. And the PTA is just an adult version of an extracurricular activity; an activity that will require me to go to meetings and do shit in a timely and organized way. Which leads me to my next point…

I don’t do shit unless I feel like it THAT DAY

See, the trouble with me being expected to do shit in a group is that I am fickle. I wake up each day and have no idea what I’m going to do. Oh sure, I have a vague idea of what I might do, but even that could change if I’m not in the mood. I mean, I’ll mix up a batch of cookie dough with the full intention of baking cookies, then be all like “meh, I’ll put it in the fridge and roll out the dough tomorrow.” Tomorrow arrives and I don’t feel like making cookies into different shapes, and the dough is either chilled for another day, or I just spoon the cookies onto the baking sheets and that’s that. So being in the PTA wouldn’t work for me, because they have a schedule and they expect you to do shit for fundraisers and make cupcakes, and I would likely not feel like doing the shit I said I would do until the very last minute. Somehow I don’t think that would go over well with the other moms.

I prefer to keep to my own schedule

And that’s a nicer way of saying “I prefer to just do things whenever I feel like it”. This totally would not work if I was in the PTA, because they have those meetings, and meetings would take away what precious time I have. What’s that, you say? I’m a stay-at-home mom and have all the time in the world? Fuck you. My time is still just as valuable as yours is Fictional Working Mother Who Called Me Out on My Bullshit. On any given day I could have chores that need to be done, blogs to read, inappropriate TV shows to watch while my kid naps, smut to write, or just do sweet fuck all because I feel like it! But no, you’re right; I should totally get dressed and go to that meeting because it’s what I’m expected to do if I don’t work outside the home.

My time is not free

There was only ONE time in my life when I willingly volunteered my time without expecting payment, and that was when I was in high school and required work experience in order to graduate. Even then, I chose working at the daycare. I played with kids for a few hours. I did NO WORK whatsoever! The PTA will expect me to participate in bake sales and other shit that will require me to be at a place at a certain time and talk people into spending money on shit that I had to make. For free. You know what that is? That’s retail. I was IN retail. I can tell you right now that the only part of that job I liked was working on the displays. But I wouldn’t have even done that if I wasn’t getting paid to do it, because I had to get there at a set time (often too damn early) and stay there until closing (often too damn late). If I want to set up displays and make things pretty, I’ll do that at home for my own enjoyment. Give the PTA members a salary and maybe I’ll reconsider it.

At some point they will ask for money

My husband has a pretty good job right now, and with the way things are going he will probably have a higher level of income five years from now. He might even achieve his dream of running his own business, but that still doesn’t mean we’ll have money to spend on fundraisers. I plan on having a second kid in a few years, so pretty much double the expenses we have now, and obviously we’ll want to have a few luxuries like family vacations, going out for dinner, and saving money for retirement. And yes, obviously we would have some money “left over” because being poor taught me a lot of ways to pull money out of my ass when we needed it most, and to save that money so that it’s available to be pulled out of my ass. But see, that money is what we use for Slurpees and ice cream. It’s what we use for the occasional “just because” gift for either ourselves or our kid. So basically, every time the PTA asks for money, they are dipping into our “fun money”. And really, what the question boils down to is this: Do I want to spend that money on stupid decorations for a school dance, or do I want to order pizza tonight so I don’t have to cook after dealing with all those Pinterest Moms? Pizza will always win.

People Annoy Me

I’m an introvert, which basically means I prefer small, intimate groups to big parties. I also don’t need that much in the way of social interaction and can get more than enough of it from my family. In fact, I sometimes get TOO much social interaction (but I still love you, husband, even if you do annoy me sometimes. Same to you, too, son). This social interaction, for introverts, comes at an energy cost. See, unlike extroverts who feel energized after being around tons of people, introverts get the opposite effect. I’m saying that if I have to attend a party (and by my definition, “party” is a gathering of more than five people) I’m going to need at least two days of doing sweet fuck all in semi-isolation to recharge my batteries. My best friends are the women in my life who understand that even if I don’t call or visit them for weeks, I’m not mad at them and I still totally want to hang out at some point. Just not every day. Or even every weekend. Once a month? That’s more like it, as long as I’m allowed to skip a month should some other exhausting social events come up. I’m not anti-social, I swear! I can party with the best of them and I can even have a good time in groups, but if I have to be too many places and see too many people in any given week, I get cranky. I need my “alone time”. If you’re an introvert, you get what I’m saying. If you’re an extrovert…sorry, you probably don’t understand at all. Doesn’t matter; this isn’t about you.

So yeah, getting back to the PTA, you can see how that’s not going to work. I’d be surrounded by people, expected to interact in a pleasant way, and do so probably way more often than I can handle. And before you all point out that I worked retail, let me remind you (again) that I was getting paid to be pleasant. But here’s the thing: when I was working, I rarely wanted to go out and do things with people on my days off. In fact, when I was working, the only thing that got me through the day was knowing that once I got home I could change into my PJs, ditch the bra, eat whatever the hell is easiest to make, and watch a shit ton of TV or surf the net. Going out with friends didn’t factor into my evening activities. Actually, if I’m going to be completely honest, when I was still dating my husband I would sometimes hope that he was too busy to come over, just so that I could have a night to myself. Now that we’re married, I secretly jump for joy when he tells me he’s going out with the guys or will be working over the weekend. It’s not because I don’t love spending time with him, but sometimes I just want to play on the computer and not talk to anyone for a few hours (or half a day).

So yeah, dealing with people all the time? SO not my thing.

I am too much of an individual

You know what types of moms happily fit in at PTA meetings? The same girls who were “popular” in high school. They are made up (and usually headed) by the same kinds of control freaks I avoided. There’s always that one woman who tries to boss everyone else around, and there’s that woman who is just good at EVERYTHING and you feel inadequate just standing next to her. There’s the mom who makes 75 mini cupcakes all shaped like hearts or some shit, and there’s the one who judges everyone on everything. I dread interacting with these moms. I dread the day when I am forced to attend some parent-supervised party for the sake of my kid, and I hear “we don’t do x in our house” or “don’t you realize that has x amount of preservatives?” These are the types of moms who lobby governments to make PE mandatory until graduation. I HATE those moms. Those moms make the lives of other peoples’ offspring hell! I’m serious, here! The “healthy lunches” moms and the “active lifestyle” moms need to butt out already, because I actually remember what I was like as a kid. Hell, I’m STILL like that today, and I will tell you that no matter how many programs and shit moms lobbied for, there will always be kids who resist and find ways to cheat the system. I was that kid.

How could I possibly sit through a meeting and discuss ways to change “unhealthy” habits of other peoples’ children and keep a straight face? Listen up, PTA people! That “extra” PE that you lobbied for? It didn’t promote any enjoyment in physical activity for me. Quite the opposite, actually. You see, what you bubble-headed idealists fail to realize is that forcing people into doing something they don’t want to do makes them not want to do that thing even more! In fact, by 10th grade (before you assholes decided to make PE mandatory up to graduation) I was celebrating the END of forced physical education. I ditched most of the classes and went to “make up classes” at the end of the year, during finals, just so that I WOULDN’T HAVE TO DO PE SUMMER SCHOOL OR REPEAT THE CLASS NEXT YEAR. You get it yet? I literally went to class so that I wouldn’t have to do that shit ever again! And now that I’m an adult? My physical activity comes in the form of walking to the store when I feel like going out, or walking around the house. I don’t play sports. I hate sports. You know WHY I hate sports? BECAUSE I WAS FORCED TO PLAY SPORTS IN PE!!! It is YOUR fault that I don’t enjoy a “healthy, active lifestyle.”

And now I see that you’re lobbying to ban junk food from schools. Even birthday cupcakes are a big “no no” with you guys! Seriously, get your heads out of your asses! You know what happens with “healthy” lunches if a kid doesn’t want to eat them? They get trashed. Or parts of it will get trashed. You know how my parents managed to get me to eat my lunches at school? They packed things I would actually eat. I ate those things. If they packed something “healthy” that I didn’t want to eat, I threw it out. Or gave it away. But mostly I threw it out because no kid wants to eat MORE carrot sticks in their lunch. Sorry, that shit’s just not happening, and you can ban junk food all you want, but all you’re going to do is have the kids either sneak it in their lunches or they won’t eat at all (and then snack on their way home after school). And how do I know this? Because I would have (and did) do those things! My point being that you really have NO control over your own kids outside of the home, let alone someone else’s kids.

And that, really, is the biggest reason why I won’t be joining the PTA. I just can’t stand the types of people who want to control everyone else’s behavior and lifestyle. I cannot be a part of an organization that spouts such mindless propaganda…unless I’m only there to undermine and infuriate the other moms. And even then, as fun as that might be, I would still be required to attend meetings and functions on a regular basis, so, no, it’s not worth even the entertainment of making the PTA’s heads explode at my logic and reasoning.

But I’m totally bringing birthday cupcakes to my son’s school. Never let it be said that I’m a bad mother 😉